


honey and trombones

by shellybelle



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Cuddles, M/M, obligatory poetry, the Protect Derek Nurse 2k17 and Forever Squad, the softest soft to ever soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 23:37:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10932384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shellybelle/pseuds/shellybelle
Summary: Hot tea and a new book of poetry--there are few things in the world that make him happier, that soothe him like nothing else can.Well. Very few things, anyway.





	honey and trombones

**Author's Note:**

> me: ugh i'm feeling really uninspired idk if i can write right now  
> check please fandom: *gets racist as about nursey*  
> me: WELL LOOK WHAT I SUDDENLY HAVE THE TIME TO DO
> 
> here, have some Soft Boys Being Soft.

 

“You make me feel like honey and trombones. You make me feel like honey and trombones.”

(Anis Mojgani, "These Things Are How You Make Me Feel")

 

 

As he takes the kettle off the stove, Nursey finds himself singing.

 

He keeps it soft--a hum, just for him, as he pours hot water over a jasmine teabag and sets the kettle aside. It’s too hot for tea, really; Samwell’s having a heat wave, but he has his rituals. He picks up the book he’d left on the kitchen table and carries it and his mug back out to the porch.

 

The spring air hits him in a gentle wave of warmth, and he settles himself down on the steps, leaning back against the slats of the porch. He’s definitely blocking the door, but no one should be coming or going anytime soon, and if he’s a fire hazard, he can always move. Lifting his mug to his face, he breathes in deeply, closing his eyes against the steam inhaling the sweet floral scent--not just of the tea, but of the air around him, everything blossoming, coming back to life after the too-long winter.

 

It’s a good day. He hasn’t had a good day--a _really_ good day, where everything in his head is quiet and calm, where his thoughts are settled, where nothing inside him is threatening to break or tear or collapse under too much strain--in what feels like forever. And today has been good. Nursey sips his tea, lets the soft, subtle flavor dance over his tongue. It’s just short of too hot, but that’s okay.

 

Shifting his mug to one hand, he opens his book. Hot tea and a new book of poetry--there are few things in the world that make him happier, that soothe him like nothing else can.

 

Well. Few things.

 

He’s a few poems in, the words drifting over him as sweetly as the warm summer air (sweet, yes, sweet and soft, but always, in spring, with the potential for a storm, and doesn’t he know that well?) when the door opens. He glances up, ready to move, but it’s Chowder, his hair tousled and his eyes sleep-soft. His face brightens when he sees Nursey.

 

“Hey,” he says, stepping out onto the porch and closing the door behind him. He’s wearing one of Nursey’s ATCQ t-shirts, too big in the shoulders. “There you are. I woke up and you were gone.”

 

“Yeah.” Nursey smiles up at him. It’s hard not to smile at him. “Sorry. It was too nice outside to stay in the Haus, but I didn’t wanna wake you. You needed the sleep after that roadie.”

 

Chowder nods a sleepy agreement and yawns, coming to sit next to Nursey. He looks thoughtful for a moment, and then nudges at Nursey’s back a little until Nursey gets the hint and laughs, scooting forward. Chowder slots himself in between the porch slats and Nursey, then folds himself comfortably over Nursey’s back, wrapping his arms around him and tucking his chin against Nursey’s shoulder. “Whatcha reading?”

 

Nursey leans back against him, wriggling a little to get comfortable. Chowder smells like kiwi conditioner and Nursey’s lavender laundry detergent, and Nursey smiles, turning his head just enough to kiss his jaw. Chowder hums contentedly. “Anis Mojgani.”

 

“Never heard of him.” Chowder trails his fingers lazily over Nursey’s chest--not a sexual motion, not even sensual, just gentle. _Hi, I’m here, now. I love you_.

 

“Mm. That’s okay.” Nursey sips his tea. “You want?”

 

“No thanks.” Chowder nuzzles his face against Nursey’s neck. “I know this is your thing. I just wanted to be here with you.”

 

Nursey shifts to look at him, a little uncertain. This is still new, the two of them, and he’s still getting used to being _wanted_ \--well, he’s used to being _wanted_ , people have _wanted_ him since he was too young for it to be appropriate, but this, this is new. This gentleness, the way C looks at him, the way he wraps his arms around him and touches him like he’s something precious--he can’t quite decide if it makes his heart melt into something liquid and impossible to contain and keep safe and bottled, or sing too loudly to keep quiet, so loudly he’s sometimes terrified it’ll be so loud C will realize how _much_ he feels, all the time, no matter how he buries it under layers and layers of **_chill_**.

 

“Derek?” Chowder is still looking at him, his eyes curious. “Is it okay, if I sit with you?”

 

“Of course you can.” Nursey leans his head back against Chowder’s shoulder. “Thanks for asking, though.”

 

Chowder kisses his cheek. “I know you need your space,” he says simply, and yeah, there goes the singing, there goes the melting. Nursey _loves_ him.

 

But Chowder doesn’t make him say anything else, just wraps his arms around him and kisses his cheek again, high on his cheekbone where his skin is smooth and stubble free. _It’s the softest spot_ , he likes to protest, when Nursey makes fun of him for kissing it over and over. “Will you read to me?”

 

He doesn’t usually read other people’s poetry out loud, he’s never quite sure about how they’d want it done. But he’ll make an exception today. “Yeah, okay.” Nursey shifts back, getting more comfortable, and turns the page to a new poem.

 

“These Things Are How You Make Me Feel,” he says quietly. Behind him, Chowder hums thoughtfully, and he glances back in time to see him close his eyes, dark lashes casting gentle shadows over his cheeks. Nursey smiles, encased in warmth, and begins to read.

 

**Author's Note:**

> spite fuels my writing but comments make me much happier.
> 
> The poem Nursey is about to read, and the one referenced in the title and epitaph, is ["These Things Are How You Make Me Feel"](https://genius.com/Anis-mojgani-these-things-are-how-you-make-me-feel-annotated) by Anis Mojgani which made my nerdy ass cry so you should probably give it a read.
> 
> i'd say i'm nicer on tumblr but i'm actually kind of a mess there, too. don't believe me? visit and find out: @geniusorinsanity


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